


Efficiency (at working through the guilt)

by Idjit_01



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bulimia, Eating Disorders, Gen, Graphic Description, Guilt, Hurt No Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Mental Health Issues, Purging, Quote: "Bitch." "Jerk." (Supernatural), Sick Dean Winchester, Vomiting, Worried Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24281557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idjit_01/pseuds/Idjit_01
Summary: Dean wants to throw up to get rid of his guilt. (It's not the first time.)TW: eating disorders.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	Efficiency (at working through the guilt)

**Author's Note:**

> So, ha, this is another midnight vent. This may be really triggering for people with eating disorders, so this is their cue to leave. I know I wouldn't, so if you do read, be careful. I hope things get better for you~
> 
> Obviously, this behaviour is not adviced at all. I've really tried not to glamourize or disrespect this illness.
> 
> Anyways, feedback is always encouraged. I hope you like it :)

Dean looked down at the toilet bowl like it held the answers to the universe. It wasn't the first time he found himself in this position, but there wasn't really anything he could do about it. Not that he really wanted to. 

It was just routine. If a hunt went wrong, or there were a few more victims then expected he had to cleanse his guilt. If it was early, he'd go to a diner with Sam and eat his weight in cheeseburgers, fries, beer and pie. If it was late, he would just go to a bar and drink whatever he could find. It didn't matter, anyways. Afterwards there would always be the same outcome.

He would find himself face-down the toilet, fingers down his throat, knuckles pressed against his teeth, massaging his throat and tongue over and over again until everything he didn't deserve came up from his stomach and bursted out his mouth. It was violent and raw. It made his throat hurt and his face puffy. It almost brought tears to his eyes, from the pressure the building up the nausea caused. 

It had started a long time ago, when he was hunting with his dad -though most of the time he really was on his own- and the guilt would eat him alive. He couldn't keep his family together, he couldn't keep anyone safe, he couldn't do anything. People just kept dying and he kept failing again and again and again. So he would punish himself. Hightening his pleasure and then taking it all away, cleansing all his mistakes.

When he started hunting with Sam, though, things changed. Yes, he still was useless. Yes, people still kept dying. But he was too occupied with Sam to even think of this happening. Or with his dad, or with the apocalypse. He didn't eat alone, so he felt self-conscious, even though he tried to hide eating as non-chalant as possible. He knew it worked, because of how grossed out Sam was over his eating patterns.

It wasn't like he was fat. He actually didn't care about that. He had been complimented over the years many times and he knew he wouldn't be as successful with the chicks if he was overweight. Hell, he was sure he would be able to hunt if he wasn't in shape.

Not that he spared a second thought on that, though. He loved food way too much to give it up. Sam could give him all the lectures he wanted over healthy eating, cholesterol and the benefits of tasteless salads. He didn't care. What was the point of living, of working to save people he actually didn't really save if he couldn't enjoy himself somehow? How could he get through so much disappointment and failure without the relief he could take from those tiny moments of pleasure?

Sure, he had sex. He enjoyed it. But it wasn't the same. There were things that could always go wrong and the hurt look he received every time he moved on from one casual partner to another always diminished the benefits he had gotten out of it.

And the trauma couldn't be doing him any favors. Hell, purgatorty, all those mistakes with Lisa... He couldn't stop doing things wrong. 

So now he felt guilty for indulging in his desires when all those people couldn't because of him. He wasn't even smart as Sammy. If he was, they probably would have saved at least half of the people that had been uselessly torn apart. They would have saved so much time.

"Hey, Dean," He heard Sam's voice through the motel's bathroom door. "Cas says this isn't angels work. I'm gonna talk to the victims' families again, wanna come?"

Dean sighed. He looked back at the toilet bowl with longing, itching to get rid of everything he had swallowed. 

"Y-..." He cleared his throat and tried again. "Yeah, gimme a minute."

He heard Sam hover over the door for a minute. He could practically hear his brow furrow with concern.

"Hey, you okay?"

Dean looked back at the toilet bowl. The victims were more important. He could get rid of his guilt later, hopefully avoiding that a few more corpses ended in the morgue. Time was precious. He opened the door and smiled at Sam smugly.

"I'm great." 

Sam hesitated for a minute, clearly deciding whether or not he should push the issue. "Okay." He luckily murmured, shaking his head and turning out of the crappy room. "Jerk."

"Bitch."


End file.
